


Shotgun

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Post S3, Pre S4, Sam - Freeform, Spoiler?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The first time she saw him, well, he couldn’t be described as completely put-together, but he was as close to it as you could get around these parts. She’d arrived to take his order and he had glanced across the table, before quickly turning his gaze back to her, almost surprised. Naturally, when he’d stuttered out that just a coffee would be fine, thanks, her curiosity had been piqued. She brought his order, smiled indulgently when he murmured out a thanks, and settled back to watch him. '</p>
<p>Sam's suffering, and an outsider can see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> Story told from another character's perspective; not a character from the show.

She hastily gathered her hair up into a messy ponytail as she relayed the order to the cook. At the grunt of acknowledgement, she sighed and let herself relax, eyes drifting toward the greasy windows of the diner. She’d have to clean that sometime soon.

As she turned away, she caught sight of the tall, quiet man she’d been observing for the past week. He’d looked more tired than usual today, and she’d be willing to bet that it had something to do with his split lip. He hadn’t really seemed the type to get into fights, but you can’t really tell anything these days.

The first time she saw him, well, he couldn’t be described as completely put-together, but he was as close to it as you could get around these parts. She’d arrived to take his order and he had glanced across the table, before quickly turning his gaze back to her, almost surprised. Naturally, when he’d stuttered out that just a coffee would be fine, thanks, her curiosity had been piqued. She brought his order, smiled indulgently when he murmured out a thanks, and settled back to watch him.

Although, really, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, so she couldn’t justify the disappointment she felt when he had merely opened up the newspaper he had brought with him and sipped quietly.

By then, another group of customers had arrived who, of course, needed tending to, (honestly, what with all the kidnappings lately, you’d think fewer people would be out and about) and she forgot all about the man until a cursory glance out of the (much cleaner) windows showed the surprisingly tall customer run a hand through thick brown hair before reaching out to the door handle of, presumably, his car.

The car was a beauty. Her dad had owned a car like that. Was called a Chevy Impala, or something. She’d never paid attention then.

What confused her was when the man slid into the front passenger seat and slammed the door close, (perhaps a little harder than was needed?) a smile curling his lips.

Was he waiting for someone? Rendezvous with a lover who liked to drive? _Could_ he even drive?

She sighed and was about to turn her attention elsewhere, when the man abruptly froze before swiftly exiting the car and walked around to the other side. He lingered for a moment before finally getting in and driving away.

She watched for him for the next few days and everyday he came in, although the hours were always unreliable. Sometimes he’d order just coffee, sometimes he’d add salad into the mix. Sometimes he’d be with a newspaper, sometimes he’d be with a laptop.

Yet, there was one thing that ever varied.

Today, she watched as once again, he slid into the seat beside the driver’s, glared in helpless frustration at the wheel-empty dashboard and stomped around to take the wheel.

Maybe he was European.

 


End file.
